FUNERAL AT NAZARETH,
IN PENNSYLVANIA.
The Sabbath summer-sun declined
To its bright, western goal,
And o'er the green, Moravian vales
Serene enchantment stole.
'T would seem as if the holy rest
Of heaven's anointed hour,
Here found response in every breast,
And breathed from every flower.
Then slowly from the house of God
Came forth a funeral train,
And with a measured movement trod
Along the velvet plain.
The little coffin of a babe
Borne in the midst was seen,
While village children, two and two,
Walked near, with serious mien.
Beside the church-yard gate they paused,
And woke an anthem's thrill,
While flutes and clarions mingled soft
With music's perfect skill.
Methought it tenderly implored,
Though not a word was said,
Room for another guest to swell
The assembly of the dead.
Then through the unclosing gate they passed,
And up the hillock wound,
Where peaceful slept their kindred clay
In consecrated ground.
Nor weed, nor straw, nor mouldering leaf
Defaced their sacred bed,
But tireless care, the chosen spot
With Nature's beauty spread.
Rich evergreens, and willows fair
In graceful ranks had grown,
And thickly planted flowerets clasped
Each horizontal stone.
And then the reverent Pastor read,
As mid the graves he trod.
In the deep German's solemn lore,
Words from the Book of God.
"I am the resurrection, saith
The Lord, who life can give,
And whosoe'er on me believes,
Though he were dead, shall live."
Beside the narrow pit they stood,
Grooved mid the verdure deep,
And while the children bent to see
Where the fair babe should sleep,—
Forth burst a glorious triumph-strain,
As if from heaven it prest,
The welcome of the seraph-train
To some accepted guest:—
The welcome of the harps that praise
Jehovah, night and day,
To one that early 'scaped the snares
Of sinful, mortal clay.
Faith stood among the fragrant flowers
That decked the burial-sod,
And cheerful gave the new-born soul
Back to its Father, God.
While Music, with her angel-voice
So quelled affliction's tide,
That even upon the parent's cheek
The starting tear was dried.
So, wrapped in melody and love,
That infant form was laid,
Like sculptured marble, cold and pure,
Within the hallowed shade.
And while the parting summer-sun
Sent forth a blessed ray,
They smoothed its little pillowed turf,
And calmly went their way.
Yet oft shall tender Memory touch
With light that never fails,
That simple funeral scene, amid
The green Moravian vales.
The settlements of Bethlehem and Nazareth, in Pennsylvania, inhabited by the Moravians, are truly interesting to strangers. They exhibit peculiar indications of order, industry, and comfort, and the expanse of ten miles which divides them, is marked by neat and careful cultivation. The beauty of the groves was particularly obvious, kept free from underwood, and carpeted with fresh, clean turf, scarcely defaced by a scattered leaf or spray.
The banks of the Lehigh, at Bethlehem, are over-shadowed by large, lofty, umbrageous trees, which add much to the romantic character of the landscape. We visited the school for girls, which enjoyed a high reputation in early times, when our country could boast but few institutions for the education of females. The different classes seemed in perfect order, and the countenances of the pupils evinced contentment and happiness. The gardens belonging to the establishment, which are pleasantly laid out, and decorated with fountains, were shown us, by an ancient guide, who said he had in youth been a soldier under Frederick the Great. The contrast must be strong indeed, between the drill of a military despot and the blessed lore of the florist.
The spacious church at Bethlehem, is adorned with the portraits of many missionaries; the sect of Moravians having very early entered the field of missionary labor, and wrought there with a tireless and self-denying zeal.
Our approach to Nazareth, which was from the beautiful region of Wyoming, through Bear-Creek, Stoddardsville, &c., was rendered striking by passing at the hour of sunset the base of a lofty mountain, from whose empurpled summit, rays of crimson and gold went streaming up the horizon in prolonged and magnificent coruscations. Nazareth has a school for boys, which was well filled, and maintained a good reputation. Its members seemed to enjoy that health of body, and those salubrious moral iufluences, without which the intellectual gains of the young are but a mockery.
Nazareth is less populous than Bethlehem, and from its more secluded situation, has better preserved those primitive and distinguishing characteristics, which it is so pleasant to study in a state of society, where goodness and piety prevail.
Among the more prominent of these, were simplicity of manners, uniformity in the style of building furniture, and apparel, and a happy ignorance of those fashions and ceremonies, which levy so great a tax upon a short life. Their attention to children was also conspicuous; not an indulgence of their appetites, or wayward fancies, but a patience of explanation, and a kind care to interest them in whatever appertains to the welfare of this life, or the next.
It would seem to be the habit of their pastors, sometimes to adapt a portion of their discourses peculiarly to them. A sermon on the miracle of our Saviour at the Lake of Gennesaret, opened with a graphic description of that Lake, the extent of its waters, and the scenery of the Holy Land by which it was encompassed, mingled with simplified reflections, calculated to attract and instruct the young mind. The children of the congregation, who sat together, were seen lifting their bright faces to the speaker, with delighted attention. They knew this portion was for them, and received it as the tender plant inhales the dew-drop.
At the funeral obsequies, which have been imperfectly delineated in the preceding poem, the dead babe was borne into the church, and the greater part of the afternoon address was to the little ones who gathered around. They listened earnestly to the clergyman, as to a father, while he taught them, in their native German, of the happy return of infancy to the arms of its Redeemer.
The sacred and soul-stirring music with which this interment was attended, it would be in vain to attempt to describe. It was produced by a few of the young men of the village, who, bearing different instruments in perfect accord, walked at the head of the procession. They breathed the very soul of that melody, which mingling with the tender solemnity of the scene, raised the thoughts to Heaven. Some writer has said of a troubled realm, that "its national music lulled to sleep all its wrathful passions." So those solemn and harmonious strains seemed to charm away that bitterness of grief which is wont to linger round the grave where affection deposits its treasures.
After the burial, the people passed in the same order in which they had followed the little one to its last repose, through a public garden adorned with shrubbery and flowers, adjoining the cemetery. The countenances of the children were sweet and serious, as those who had not associated the death of a Christian babe with dread or terror. I thought the lesson they had learned there, impressed as it was by the words of inspiration, and the influence of music, would not soon be forgotten. Might we not also, ourselves, have received one, worthy of being remembered, how the burial of infant innocence might be made beautiful? how even parental sorrow might aspire to the sublime faith of that "cheerful giver, whom God loveth?"
A kind and gentle spirit is manifested by the Moravians, in their intercourse with each other, and with differing denominations of Christians. The time thus saved from conflicts about shades of opinion, they have wisely spent in giving a deeper growth to that charity which the Gospel requires. Perhaps they think with the philosopher, that "the true wealth of a man is the number of things that he loves and blesses, that he is loved and blessed by."
But they have learned of a better Teacher, and seem well to have kept the test which He enjoined,—"Hereby shall men know that ye are my disciples, if ye love one another."